


Never Not

by swiftmake



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swiftmake/pseuds/swiftmake
Summary: When Albus sleeps he dreams in fragments of his past life as The Great Albus Dumbledore. Which is mostly fine, until the Triwizard Tournament brings with it a temperamental blonde and nightmares. // Reincarnation AU // Formerly named In the Echo of a Dream.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I walked out of CoG wishing someone would write this fic, and kept clinging to scenes in my mind that needed to be strung together, so here we go. As far as I’m concerned Cursed Child doesn’t exist – and I’m still undecided about Fantastic Beasts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Albus sleeps he dreams in fragments of his past life as The Great Albus Dumbledore. Which is mostly fine, until the Triwizard Tournament brings with it a temperamental blonde and nightmares. // Reincarnation AU // Formerly named In the Echo of a Dream.

** _NEVER NOT  
_** ** _PROLOGUE_ **

The echoes had been with him for as long as he could remember. They weren’t anything as crude as say, a voice in his head – he wasn’t crazy, after all – but there was a certain ease with which the correct spell was always at the tip of his tongue and the way he moved his wand in perfect form without having to ever think about it. 

(And then there were the _dreams_ – but we don’t talk about _those_.)

“Albus,” he remembered his mother cooing as he began speaking, reading, and walking at an age earlier than most, “You’re just as brilliant as your namesake.”

Like many children of his generation, he was named after the great Albus Dumbledore, which made it extremely awkward when he later met Albus Severus Potter and a litany of other kids also named Albus. His parents however, were adamant that he was special – “We’re from a distant branch of the Dumbledore bloodlines, and it’s an important family name for us,” they said.

When Albus Seillean was two he performed his first major display of accidental magic and transformed the ceiling of his nursery into a glittering night sky. “It’s just like the Great Hall at Hogwarts,” said his father with a mixture of awe and apprehension in his voice.

It wasn’t until he started at Hogwarts in earnest, however, that his instinctive genius became readily apparent. Of course, his parents had always willingly supplied advanced reading material in the lead up to his schooling, but from the moment he was given his own wand and stepped through those hallowed halls, Albus began to soar.

* * *

** _NEVER NOT  
_** ** _CHAPTER ONE_ **

He boarded the Hogwarts Express with a warm sense of wonder overloading his senses – it never got old. The scent of worn-in leather mingled with the musky smoke of the train, and the sound of laughing children bidding farewell to anxious parents filled the air. Albus knew without question that when the Trolley Witch came past later, he’d be emptying out his pockets for all sorts of sweets. 

“Albus – over here!” Came a sudden shout, and Al Potter, possibly the closest thing to a brother that Albus had, stuck his head out from a compartment and beckoned him over.

Al Potter had barreled into Albus’s life much like a graceless hippogriff in a china shop, and Albus loved every minute of it. After all, there was nothing quite like attempting to stop James Sirius Potter from pulling an unnecessary prank on one unsuspecting Scorpius Malfoy to bring a friendship together.

Albus had barely set foot on the train for the first time when a slender blonde came stumbling past, followed by maniacal laughter and a slightly older boy waving his wand dramatically. The pair were swiftly tailed by another small boy with messy black hair and vivid green eyes shouting, “James you _can’t_ put a _curse_ on someone on the _Hogwarts Express!_”

What developed after involved Al and Scorpius barricading themselves in an empty train compartment, while James threatened to hex the door down, “I _just_ want to dye his hair pink, Al! Uncle Ron said the Malfoys are _very_ _sensitive_ about the hair!”

With a confidence that surprised him, Albus found himself approaching the compartment door and casting a reasonably simple warding charm much to James Potter’s irritation. In between several failed attempts at undoing the charm, James cheerfully introduced himself to Albus and wondered which house he would end up in, before leaving with a, “Well, you’ll probably give Rosie a run for her money – don’t worry, I’ll get Scorpius next time.”

Seconds later and in abject gratitude, the two trapped first years opened the door and dragged Albus inside with the promise of sweets. They very quickly decided who was an Al and who was an Al_bus_ before poor Scorpius lost it at them both.

“Can you believe,” continued Al, not paying attention as Albus ducked his head slightly to enter the compartment, “that this is the last time we’ll be doing this trip? This time next year we’ll be exploring all of Europe!”

“That’s _if_ we survive our NEWTs and then actually plan for it,” said Albus with a mischievous look his blue eyes as he took the seat opposite Al. Scorpius hadn’t arrived yet, but that was to be expected – Draco and Astoria Malfoy were always loath to part with their only child for long.

Al rolled his eyes, running a hand through his eternally tousled hair and sighed, “Well yes, but it’s not like _you_ need to worry about your NEWTs – I’m sure McGonagall’s gotten all the trophies pre-spelled with your name already.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Albus smiled in response and busied himself with fishing a set of robes from out of his magically enhanced bag, slender fingers catching on a small metal object which he dutifully pulled out as well. Eyes twinkling, he flashed the small Head Boy badge in Al’s direction and busied himself with pulling the robes over his uniform.

Al let out a hearty laugh, “Rosie was _so_ hoping it wouldn’t be you – I told her there was a drake’s chance in snow that you wouldn’t get it, but you know how she gets.”

Albus replied with a rueful sigh and a slight shake of his head. From the very beginning, Rose Granger-Weasley had had no idea what to make of Albus. With high expectations placed on her from her Minister for Magic mother and former auror father, it had taken Rose a number of years to come to terms with the fact that no matter how studious and clever she was, she could never quite match the red-headed boy.

They eventually settled on a friendly and _very_ one-sided rivalry.

“I suppose you’ve got to go and lecture the prefects, then?” Al continued with a resigned sigh of his own. While he’d never cared for becoming a prefect himself – he was much better at Quidditch, thank you very much – for the past two years he’d had to sit by himself for the first hour of the Hogwarts Express train ride while Albus and Scorpius had to fulfil their prefect duties.

“Yes well I can’t be late, or Rose will give me a lecture about neglect and lack of appreciation,” said Albus, casting an apologetic look at his friend while pulling his loose auburn hair into a tight knot. “We’ll be back in no time at all – I can’t wait to hear all about your summer.” 

* * *

The Great Hall glittered in all its glory as the first feast of the year began and Albus basked in the atmosphere. Seated at the Gryffindor table with Al, he waved and greeted his housemates and fellow students as the Sorting Hat gradually chose new homes for a new crop of students.

At the head of the hall the high table hosted the teaching faculty with Headmistress McGonagall taking pride of place in the centre. To her left sat the mousey-haired deputy headmaster Professor Fawcett who had taken the Charms post from Professor Flitwick several years prior, and on McGonagall’s other side, Professor Slughorn watched the Sorting Ceremony take place with an avaricious eye.

“Selena Yang, _Hufflepuff!_” cried the Sorting Hat and the central table festooned in yellow and black erupted into cheers as the newest member of their house almost ran to take her seat.

“Jeremy Young, _Gryffindor!_” came next and Albus dutifully clapped and whooped with the rest of his house as a scrawny boy with dark hair confidently strode towards the table and was instantly swept up into a conversation with Rose Granger-Weasley.

With an invisible cue food and drink appeared on the dining tables and Albus smiled at the shocked oohs and aahs emanating from the first years. Pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice and then topping up Al’s cup he continued the conversation they had started prior, “So your family was fine with Scorpius staying over during the break in the end? I know it was stressing you out”.

“Look, to be honest, I think my family was glad to have him over if only ‘cause it meant that _I_ wasn’t the one at Malfoy Manor for the whole summer,” replied Al over a mouthful of chicken. “I mean, I consider it a success that James only managed to hex Scor _once_. You’d think he’d at least_ try_ to behave with mum and dad around!”

The two laughed – the chances of James ever growing out of his obsessive need to pull pranks on anyone and everyone were slim to none, and it seemed like he’d developed an extra special itch for harassing Scorpius that only grew once The Most Dramatic Love Story at Hogwarts managed to resolve itself. Luckily for them all, James had graduated before any of the _really_ dramatic parts happened.

“Did you get James back at least?”

“Oh you bet I did – Scor didn’t want to start any trouble, but Uncle George gave me some test products,” Al continued with a smirk.

The sound of clattering cutlery and boisterous conversation continued to rise and then slow, finally ending with full bellies and half-hidden yawns.

Headmistress McGonagall stood and the hall fell into silence. Renowned for her ability to convey utmost disdain with a single look as well as her excellent wandwork and aptitude for transfiguration, Albus had come to view her as almost another mother figure over the past six years.

“Students, this year we have some _very_ exciting news. The Ministry of Magic has decided, in consultation with its international counterparts, to revive the Triwizard Tournament and Hogwarts is honoured to be its host,” McGonagall proclaimed although the tail end of her announcement was quickly drowned out by the sound of excited students whispering.

Albus flinched as a sharp elbow nudged him in the ribs and he turned to match Al’s incredulous look with his own half-hearted shrug. For Al, the idea that _anyone_ thought the Triwizard Tournament was a good idea, _ever_, was absolutely terrifying. Especially after the _last_ one which casually resurrected a Dark Lord.

“I’m sure they’ve made it safer if they’re planning on bringing it back,” Albus murmured in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“As you will know, the Triwizard Tournament is a series of magical challenges set forth for the best and brightest students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang,” McGonagall continued firmly over the noise. “Our sister schools will be staying at Hogwarts for the duration of the tournament.”

“As such,” she added, “I would remind all of our students to be on their best behavior when our guests arrive, and to also be mindful that class timetables and facility bookings are subject to change as needed for the tournament.”

Al let out a huffy sigh, “As if organizing Quidditch training wasn’t hard enough…”

“Prefects, please escort your first years to the dorms,” concluded McGonagall.

As one the student body of Hogwarts rose from their tables and began to file out of the hall in a slightly chaotic fashion. Saying a quick farewell to Al, Albus caught Rose’s eye and joined her to approach the high table.

“I can’t believe mum didn’t tell me a thing,” said Rose glumly with a shake of her head. The usually chipper brunette was as immaculately put together as usual but her hazelnut eyes seemed lost in thought.

Albus gave a wry smile in return. While he too held some reservations about the viability of the Tournament and its _glittering_ track record, he had to admit the prospect of meeting more witches and wizards from across the globe was something he was actually quite excited about.

“Rose, Albus, I trust you had an enjoyable summer?” asked the headmistress, breaking into a smile and nodding sharply. “I’ll see you both bright and early in the morning – its going to be a busy year and we have much to discuss and much more to plan.”

And with that the school year had begun.

* * *

As Head Boy and Head Girl at Hogwarts, Albus and Rose were no longer required to dorm with the rest of their houses, instead moving into individual chambers on the fifth floor. The policy had been designed so that prefects and students were able to reach out to them whenever they liked without needing to wrestle with overexcited portraits.

Parting ways with Rose in the corridor after the feast, Albus came to a stop in front of a painting of a floral garden with a glorious phoenix perched on a branch. At the bottom of the artwork the title _Fawkes in the Bumblebee Garden_ was embossed into the gold frame.

“Sherbet lemon,” whispered Albus, and he felt slightly silly for trying to talk to a _bird_.

Fawkes the phoenix cocked its head to the side before the frame swung wide open to grant Albus entry into the room.

On the inside, the chamber looked like a more compact version of the Gryffindor common room with a queen-sized bed complete with canopy and drapes taking up the far wall. A nondescript door led the way to an elegant bathroom with a generous bathtub that Albus was extremely grateful for, as he was sure he would never reach the level of comfort required for seeing his fellow prefects in the nude.

In the central chamber, a desk for study was paired with ample bookshelves that had already been filled with Albus’s books from his luggage, and a sumptuous velvet sofa sat opposite a merrily crackling fire.

Above the fireplace, however, hung another portrait which was titled _The Night Sky_. And while you would normally expect such a painting to comprise of a rich nightscape and twinkling stars, the scene was mostly obscured by an excited blonde girl waving gently out into the room.

“Hello Albus,” said Ariana.

And Albus smiled.

Albus had met Ariana in his first year by complete accident. He’d been wandering down the seventh-floor corridor a month into his schooling, when a peculiar door appeared and seemed to beckon him.

The Room of Requirement, his brain supplied automatically, as though he’d been there a million times before. Pushing open the door and stepping inside, he found a cosy room filled with bookshelves armchairs. Despite his keenness to examine the magic of the space, he ignored it all for the key feature of the room: the striking painting of a fey-like teenage girl.

Albus felt faint – as though he had somehow known her face his entire life.

“O you’re here,” said the portrait, and the echoes of a dream of summer days and melodic laughter settled upon Albus like a warm cloak. She had gossamer blonde hair that swayed in the invisible wind within her picture’s frame, and a brilliant smile grew across her face.

“Here?” Albus repeated in a murmur.

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for you – nobody talks to me anymore after Abe,” she said and beamed. “Of course, you don’t know who I am, do you?”

Albus swallowed the lump in his throat harshly as he frantically chased the name that sat at the tip of his tongue. It remained just slightly out of reach.

“I’m Ariana – but you can call me Ari,” she almost sang, “will you tell me a story?”

Since then, Albus had spent the last six years visiting the Room of Requirement once a fortnight. While he’d told Al and Scorpius that he preferred studying by himself all the times he’d disappeared inside, that was only part of the reason. In truth, there was something incredibly calming about chatting to Ariana – even if she _was_ just a portrait.

“How did you get in here, Ari?” asked Albus as he shrugged off his robe. Underneath, he wore the plain Hogwarts uniform of white shirt and grey pants, and before he slipped out of _those_ he quickly thought better of it – Ariana may have been a painting, but she held herself with a classic poise that Albus felt was quite traditionally minded.

“I heard some of the other portraits say that you’re head boy this year, Albus – congratulations!” she chirruped, “The Fat Lady mentioned to one of the knights that you’d be in this room and Fawkes let me in”.

Albus couldn’t help but grin. From what he’d gathered, Ariana was one of the school’s more mysterious portraits who spent most of her time in the Room of Requirement or in another painting outside of Hogwarts. More shy than most artworks, Ariana seemed to latch on to Albus and would only speak to him when nobody else was around.

“Thank you, Ari,” Albus said graciously as he unlocked his trunk and began to unpack his belongings. He had to admit, having his own room was definitely a perk that made being Head Boy worth it. “How was your summer?”

“Oh it was quite lovely – I did some more exploring,” said Ariana, by which she meant she visited several scenic paintings, “how was yours? Did you do anything exciting?”

“Well, I went to Mahoutokoro for several weeks to work with their elemental transfiguration team,” began Albus, “mother was worried for me but I reassured her they were taking good care of me and I picked the language up quite quickly which was _interesting_ –”

“Oh the school in _Japan_?” breathed Ariana in awe, “Was it just beautiful?”

Albus laughed and then stifled a yawn, “It was pretty amazing, the different kinds of magic they’re exploring is really groundbreaking. You’ll never believe what they’re trying to do with weather magic over there…”

* * *

The first few weeks of term passed by almost too quickly to count and it seemed like all anyone could talk about was just _who_ would be stupid enough to put their name forward for the Triwizard Tournament. 

Fending off inquiries about the tasks (“No, Erol, McGonagall _hasn’t_ ordered a maze full of dementors”) and juggling his already full workload had Albus constantly wondering where his time had gone as he moved between classrooms and meetings with Hogwarts staff.

Truthfully, he wouldn’t have minded managing the logistics as Head Boy, except that Professor Fawcett was asking him for what had to be the thousandth time whether or not he’d ensured the designated landing zone for the Beauxbatons carriage was clear, and he was sure he had more important things to think about.

“Yes of course, Professor,” Albus replied patiently while mentally checking off the rest of his to-do list. Both schools were due to arrive at the same time, and McGonagall had assigned Albus to oversee Beauxbatons, leaving Rose with Durmstrang. He supposed it was because out of the two of them, Albus was more likely to keep his cool when faced with a troupe of Abraxan horses and a half-giant headmistress.

Although the horses _were_ magnificent, Albus had to admit as they swooped into view, beginning as a small speck on the horizon growing steadily larger and larger (and larger, still) as they began their gradual descent.

Hastily, Albus smoothed his auburn hair back and tidied it into its customary knot at the nape of his neck. Al had convinced him to style his hair like this ever since it had grown long enough to tie, saying that it was all the rage in the muggle world. Privately, Albus just liked the style because it kept his hair out of the way while he read.

The Abraxans landed in a forceful canter, slowing into a trot as the carriage made a surprisingly smooth landing. Professor Fawcett hastily brushed down his robes with his hands and strode towards the carriage door, beckoning Albus to stand next to him as they waited for the French school to disembark.

“Ah, Madame Maxime, welcome to Hogwarts,” Fawcett beamed as the headmistress stepped out of the carriage. “I trust your journey was smooth? I am Professor Fawcett and this is Albus Seillean – Headmistress McGonagall requested that we guide you to the Great Hall”.

Nodding politely, Madame Maxime turned slightly towards the inside of the carriage and in a surprisingly light voice called, “Viens Beauxbatons!”

Immediately the sharply dressed cohort of students began to exit the carriage in single file until the group of twenty or so students pooled around Madame Maxime, taking in the sight of Hogwarts’ surrounds with wide eyes.

“Professor Hagrid will look after the horses and get them settled while we head to the Great Hall,” explained Professor Fawcett as he began to lead the way towards the school. Keeping pace beside the professor, Albus smiled and quietly introduced himself to several of the Beauxbatons students, making an effort to memorise their names just in case.

Albus entered the Great Hall first and with a simple flourish of his wand, sent the generous doors swinging wide open. He was hyper conscious of the fact that almost every pair of eyes in the room were focused on him, waiting in anticipation.

“Students of Hogwarts, please welcome our cousins to the east, Beauxbatons, and their headmistress Madame Maxime,” pronounced McGonagall as she stood at the high table.

Maxime led the students to the front of the hall before pausing to thank McGonagall for her hospitality and taking a seat of honour at the faculty table, leaving the Beauxbatons students to disperse themselves across the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

With the Beauxbatons cohort seated, Albus hurried to find his customary spot next to Al at the Gryffindor table and craned his neck in anticipation for the entrance of Durmstrang. Soon enough, Rose’s distinctive dark curls made an appearance as the Head Girl of Hogwarts opened the doors to welcome the students inside.

Much like the entrance of Beauxbatons, Headmistress Schwere entered first to Headmistress McGonagall’s introduction. “Students of Hogwarts, please welcome the delegation from Durmstrang, our cousins in the North, and their Headmistress – Headmistress Schwere.”

Compared to Madame Maxime and even Headmistress McGonagall’s own tall stature, Headmistress Schwere was dwarfed in physical presence, but oozed an icy temperament that was probably required to keep a school like Durmstrang in line. She seemed to glide as she walked and she held her head high as she led her students through the hall.

Albus continued to observe and felt his heart leap into his throat.

Following closely behind Schwere was a slim blonde with a mess of wavy golden hair that seemed to glisten in the fire light. Bundled up in the customary thick crimson robes of Durmstrang, Albus could just make out a refined jaw line that was put to shame only by sharp cheekbones and wicked eyes that could have been green or blue depending on the whims of the light.

“You’re staring,” whispered Al, amused as he dug his elbow into Albus’s side.

The blonde stood at attention with the rest of the Durmstrang cohort as Headmistress Schwere turned sharply on her heel, thanked Headmistress McGonagall and Hogwarts for being their gracious hosts, and dismissed her students to seat themselves at the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables.

A tight coil of restlessness twined within Albus’s ribcage as he watched the striking blonde seat himself several students away from Scorpius. There was something that was just _achingly_ familiar about him and Albus’s eyes were transfixed, brow furrowed tight as he wondered just _where_ he had seen the Durmstrang student before.

“To our guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, we extend a warm welcome to Britain and to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” announced Headmistress McGonagall, voice ringing like a bell throughout the hall, “In celebration of twenty-five years of peace, it is with great honour that Hogwarts is to host the first, of hopefully many more, Triwizard Tournaments in our continent since 1994”.

“The Triwizard Tournament has always been an opportunity for Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to come together and strengthen the friendships that bind us, and to, of course, honour our best and brightest in a series of magical challenges,” she continued, “Make no mistake – the tournament is not for the faint hearted. But for the winner, eternal glory and a thousand galleons await.”

McGonagall paused for a moment and cast her piercing gaze over the hall, “Only students in their seventh year of study will be permitted to enter their names into the Goblet of Fire which will be overseen by myself and staff from both Hogwarts, and our visiting guests.”

A low murmur erupted amongst the students, with Albus catching a sixth year whispering conspiratorially to an anxious looking second year, “Yeah, because the age line worked _so_ well last time…”

“The names will be drawn in one week’s time – so to those who are thinking of placing their names in the Goblet of Fire, we urge you to think long, and think carefully, about whether you wish to do so,” continued McGonagall.

Smiling now, McGonagall waved her wand and the tables became laden with ample food and drink, “In the meantime, to our guests, please feel welcome and make our halls your home – Hogwarts looks forward to growing our friendships with you.”

That night when Albus returned to his room long after the feast had wrapped up, he barely registered the uncharacteristic quiet from Ariana’s portrait or that the girl seemed more solemn than usual.

With his mind in a clouded daze, he slipped out of his clothes and slid into bed, mentally circling around one key question: who was the blonde boy?

That night, Albus _dreams_.

* * *

_It is the middle of high summer and the sound of a wending stream accompanies the melodic trills of birds and the beat of his heart thumping as though it is on the verge of leaping out of his chest. Dry grass prickles underneath his thighs through thin cloth and his back is pressed firmly against the bark of an old willow tree making indents in his skin._

_“Just think about it,” comes the husky voice, and all Albus can do is watch pink lips move tantalizingly closer and closer, “we could rule the world, Albus. Just you and me.”_

_Albus fights to tear his gaze away from the lips and catches glimpses of honey toned skin and tumbling locks of golden curls paired with mesmerizing pale blue eyes that would put the sky to shame. The face is unbearably close to his own, and its owner is practically straddling Albus’s lap, with hands resting on the same tree that’s supporting Albus’s spine, on either side of Albus’s face._

_Albus’s eyes return to the lips. He wonders what they feel like and becomes immeasurably self-conscious of his own._

_“For the greater good?” Albus manages to breathe out, and Merlin, their noses are almost touching now._

_The other laughs and it is a deep and warm sound as he whispers, ‘always’, before _finally_ lips touch lips and Albus never thought kissing could be this good. His hands slide across warm skin as heat builds in his stomach and he’s never wanted anything more in life than he’s wanted this. _

_Than he’s wanted _him_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. There is a lot to unpack here. Did you know, one of the first reincarnation fics for this ship is by a lovely writer who goes by C Queen, and the fic is Only You? Well, I have shamelessly borrowed her idea of Albus being reincarnated and being friends with Albus Severus and used it here, because honestly after reading her fic I don’t think a reincarnation Hogwarts fic could work any other way – if you have the time, go and have a read.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Albus sleeps he dreams in fragments of his past life as The Great Albus Dumbledore. Which is mostly fine, until the Triwizard Tournament brings with it a temperamental blonde and nightmares. // Reincarnation AU // Formerly named In the Echo of a Dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A few changes! Albus has lost his glasses, because, reasons. And the fic’s title has changed because the song Never Not by Lauv never fails (ha) to remind me that I have to reunite these boys.

** _NEVER NOT  
_** ** _CHAPTER TWO_ **

_There is a stranger in the cemetery, and Albus can’t help but feel like perhaps the universe has finally deigned to break the monotony of his day-to-day with something wholly unexpected, and perhaps a little underwhelming. _

_He’d gone to visit his mother with flowers, as he always does whenever he needs an excuse to escape the house. Usually, he’s completely alone amongst the tombstones, occasionally catching a glimpse of one of Godric’s Hollow’s familiar resident’s coming and going, but, a stranger? Now that was different. _

_In truth, Albus probably would have missed the interloper if it weren’t for the eye-catching way the setting sun plays with white-gold strands of hair. Oh, and the fervent cursing in German and Russian, or some mixture of every language in-between, coming from several rows down._

_The stranger is crouched over a particular tombstone with a luminous orb held in one hand up close to the etchings. From a distance, Albus can make out a slender profile and agitated movements as the blonde clearly fails to find whatever it is he is looking for. _

_With a visible sigh, the stranger stands in a fluid motion and moves his wand in graceful yet violent slashes through the air. Even with the distance between them, Albus takes in a sharp breath at the sense of pure power that flares from the youth as a ghostly blue flame hovers for a moment above the tombstone. _

_Detecting another’s magic is a strange and imprecise qrt. For the most part, ambient magic feels as unremarkable as breathing to the vast majority of witches and wizards. That is, unless you are particularly sensitive to it, or happen to wield an immense amount of power of your own. To Albus, the stranger’s magic reminds him of a brisk and icy wind racing towards the sun. _

_From the corner of his eye, he can see similar flames flicker into life above a dozen of the other graves before they all disappear simultaneously with an invisible cue. It’s an interesting twist on the conventional marker charm, and Albus appreciates the clever addition of dispersion, and perhaps a timer, to the spell._

_The stranger straightens and dusts off his attire, before moving to the next tombstone in the row. Before he gets even close, however, he pauses and becomes unnaturally still. _

_Albus isn’t sure what it is that gives him away, but he blushes as the blonde slowly turns and gives him a scrutinizing look that’s paired with a mischievous grin. His eyes are a disconcerting mismatched combination – one dark, one light._

_“It isn’t polite to stare,” he says with a wink._

_And before Albus can even reply, the stranger apparates away._

* * *

It was four days after Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had arrived, and Albus entered the restricted section of the library on a particular mission to find _A Treatise on Transfiguration and Morality_ by Leander Mulcahy. Rather than stifle his apparent genius, the Hogwarts faculty had always encouraged his intellectual pursuits and allowed him to work on more advanced projects with their supervision.

Weaving through aisles of books, Albus felt as though a weight had fallen off his shoulders – there was nowhere in the world that was quite as comforting as the Hogwarts library.

He moved past the first few shelves dedicated to potion making and then the ominous wing for ancient runes, before heading towards the corner of the restricted section that he knew best. Pausing as he neared the right location, he tilted his head sideways and absentmindedly mumbled to himself, “If I were _A Treatise on Transfiguration_, where would I be?” 

A loud and derisive snort was the answer he received, and Albus almost bumped his nose against book spines in surprise.

“You’d be in the bin with the rest of Mulcahy’s books, where they belong,” came a lightly accented sardonic voice and the sound of shuffling paper.

Blushing at having been caught talking to himself, Albus peered around the corner of the shelf and was met with the sight of absolute chaos.

It was a little-known fact that the restricted section hid a study nook – and he considered it little known solely due to the fact that of all the times Albus had been there, he was the only one who seemed to use it. The restricted section was, after all, _restricted_ and only students with express permission from the Hogwarts staff were allowed within.

Books lay spread-eagled in stacks across the wooden desk and a tangle of limbs lounged lazily in the two-seater sofa behind it. Legs dangled over one plush armrest, and tousled blonde curls rested against the other. It looked like quite an uncomfortable position to be in, if you asked Albus.

Suspended in the air above the interloper’s face was the deep red cover of _A Treatise,_ and with a derisive laugh, the young man snapped the book shut and waved it languidly in Albus’s general direction. 

“You’d do better to read some of Caldwell’s essays if you’re looking for anything considered remotely interesting – Mulcahy’s nonsensical at best,” he added while propping himself up onto his elbows and peering back at Albus.

If Albus thought he’d been blushing before then he was certain his face radiated nuclear waves now. It was him – the Durmstrang boy with the laughing eyes and sharp cheekbones who moved with a confidence Albus found achingly familiar. Not in the least because Albus was now sure that the dream he’d had last night and the nights before had been a very crude imitation of the real thing. 

“I’d disagree,” Albus found himself automatically replying, “Mulcahy tends to go in circles, but at least he explores all possible variables. Caldwell, on the other hand, builds up a compelling case for only one perspective that crumbles when you realise she’s writing to confirm her own biases.”

The blonde boy laughed and he sounded positively delighted, “Well, you _might_ have a point there, but isn’t that just another way of saying there’s zero practical applicability of Mulcahy’s theories? I’d say at least Caldwell had the determination to try and push at the barriers of magic however misguided she may have been.”

“Had she not pushed at those barriers, perhaps her mind would have stayed intact for much longer,” Albus was surprised at how remarkably calm he sounded as the fluttering beat of his heart warred with the lure of a theoretical discussion.

“Quite probably,” the blonde agreed, and Albus realized with a start that he’d recalled the eyes incorrectly. It was a very slight variation in colour that was hardly noticeable, really, but one of the boy’s eyes was a pale green and the other leaned blue.

“But truthfully – _morality_? Of all the topics to pair with transfiguration, and Mulcahy goes with _morality_? Caldwell at least takes you on an adventure even if her later works are indecipherable,” he forged on over Albus’s brief pause.

Albus smiled ruefully, “While that may be true, I’m not entirely sure McGonagall’s going to accept that as a footnote for my paper.”

“_May I help you, young man_?” an acerbic voice cut through the conversation like a banshee’s cry and Albus froze with dread. Hastily, the blonde slipped out of the chair and stood at attention, a sheepish look accompanying his chagrin.

While he had never personally been on the bad side of Madame Pince, librarian extraordinaire, Albus had heard plenty of horror stories from other students about being banned from the library for months on end as punishment for crossing her.

“In _all_ my years, I have _never _seen such disrespect in my library,” hissed Madame Pince as she stepped out from between bookshelves, bespectacled eyes focused solely on the Durmstrang student who had been lounging around and _making a mess_ in her restricted section.

While time had sapped the colour from her hair and a lifetime of poring over books had given her an owlish look, the brown eyes behind her glasses were as sharp as they ever were.

Pausing, she noticed Albus standing at the junction as well and softened momentarily, “Oh hello Albus, dear, I’ve received that book you ordered the other week – you can come pick it up later if you like –”

Albus nodded mutely.

“– and in the _restricted section_!” continued Madame Pince as she returned her attention to the encroaching blonde. “You can be sure I’ll be reporting you to your Head of House and you’ll be _banned_ from the library for the rest of the year!”

Materialising her wand from her sleeve, the librarian moved it in tight slashes over the scattered books while muttering an incantation under her breath. As one, the volumes gently dislodged themselves and soared back to their homes. Albus narrowly missed being hit in the face as _A Treatise_ nestled into the shelf beside him.

“Forgiveness, madame – I mean no disrespect,” interjected the blonde as he adopted a reproachful look. The strange youth hurried to move his own papers out of the way of flying books and he hastily grabbed his crimson cloak from where it had fallen to the floor.

Madame Pince paused, brows furrowed as realization slowly dawned on her.

“I am from Durmstrang – I have never seen a library that is as beautiful or comprehensive as this one,” he continued, and, was it just Albus, or was his accent layered on quite a bit heavier than before? “I was unaware that this area was restricted – I hope you will forgive me.”

“From Durmstrang, of _course_,” Madame Pince sniffed and defrosted a fraction, “well, I suppose that makes sense – wouldn’t know a book if one hit them in the face.”

The blonde draped the cloak over his simple linen shirt and black denim combination, casting a doe-eyed look in Madame Pince’s direction as she continued to scrutinize him.

“What is your name, young man?” she asked finally after a slow pause.

“Gellert Blume, Madame Librarian,” he gave a saccharine smile.

“Right – students are not permitted in the restricted section without written permission from Hogwarts faculty,” said Madame Pince, clipping each word, “See that this doesn’t happen again.”

And with that, the librarian spun on her heel and seemed to melt away into another section of the library, leaving two slightly stunned young men in her wake.

Albus exhaled quietly in relief and was surprised to hear a matching sound from the blonde, paired with a crooked grin that reminded Albus of hazy dreams and twisted sheets. Averting his gaze, Albus turned his attention back to the shelves of Transfiguration books with a singular focus.

He almost didn’t notice Gellert approach until the boy was uncomfortably close. The blonde leaned in to pluck a leather-bound book from the shelf, and Albus couldn’t resist the temptation of catching a glimpse of the cover: _Transformations of the Soul_ by Isaiah Miranus.

“This is the book you’re looking for, by the way,” said Gellert.

“Is it?” much to his own exasperation, Albus was drawn back into conversation in an instant.

“Miranus tackles the same ideas as Mulcahy in chapter nineteen and it’s a much more compelling read,” Gellert responded with a wink, and Albus’s eyes widened in surprise as he realized that _no_, he had not hallucinated Gellert’s heavier accent when speaking with Madame Pince earlier.

“Does that work for you often?” Albus blurted out before realizing it.

“Book recommendations?” Gellert was taken aback, “Usually.”

“No, I mean, your accent,” Albus said sheepishly before realizing it probably wasn’t the most _polite_ question to ask.

Luckily for him, Gellert’s face lit up with a knowing smirk, “Oh that – most people can’t resist an accent and besides, I know better than to cross a librarian.”

Albus couldn’t hide his lopsided smile of agreement.

Up close, Albus could appreciate the sharp lines of Gellert’s face and the subtle contrast in colour between his eyes. He also noticed that, despite the fact that Albus knew he was several inches taller than Gellert, the blonde held himself with an air that made Albus feel like the smaller one.

“It’s Albus, right?” Gellert’s voice was light and musical as he handed the book to Albus.

“Yes,” Albus replied with a twinkle in his eyes, “And you’re Gellert, I assume, unless that too was part of your ruse.”

“Ah, that part was true unfortunately,” Gellert turned his gaze back to the bookshelf, “So what sort of project has Hogwarts got you working on that would require you to trawl through these tomes? I don’t imagine such dry texts are part of the Hogwarts curriculum.”

“Well actually, I’m working on a small paper examining the classifications of esoteric magicks,” said Albus as he gently eased _A Treatise_ back out from the shelf, “Mulcahy has a particular chapter on the ethics of permanent transfiguration on living creatures that I was hoping to cite.”

“The contemporary classifications hardly cover the more interesting and arcane magicks in any case,” Gellert responded with an eyeroll, “As though most things can be categorised as merely light or dark!”

Nodding in agreement, Albus busied himself with slipping the books delicately into the mouth of his enhanced canvas bag one by one and moving to the next shelf in the corridor. He stooped low to examine the fading gold leaf titles of a particular set of books before triumphantly plucking a navy volume from its home.

“Speaking of,” the blonde peered at Albus from the corner of his eyes before waving a lazy hand over the shelves, “in which section of the library _would_ you find the more esoteric texts anyway?”

Albus was intrigued, “What do you mean by esoteric? The restricted section probably has the most extensive collections of rare texts on this side of the continent, although I will say I suspect there are even more challenging ones in the personal libraries of the professors.”

“Oh, you know, just your regular books on the higher magicks,” Gellert moved his hands in the air as though he were fishing for the right words. An irresistible smile crept into his mismatched eyes, “things like raising the dead, seeing through time and bewitching lovers, et cetera.”

“Ah yes, because one never knows when it might be necessary to summon ghosts on short notice, right?” Albus played along with a mock serious look. “I hope you’re not planning on resurrecting a past lover – magic and the deceased tend not to mix well, so I’d urge you not to try.”

“Ah but you see,” returned Gellert with a mischievous grin that sent Albus’s heart racing just a little faster, “Mine is a true love, and even Death itself cannot hold us apart for too long."

“A truer love than that in the _Tale of the Three Brothers_ indeed, if you can best even Death on your quest,” mused Albus, and he blushed furiously before the words had even finished tumbling out of his mouth. How _childish_ of him, to be speaking of children’s stories in the restricted section of all places!

A strange look flickered across Gellert’s face for a brief moment and Albus was taken aback at the preternatural stillness that enveloped the blonde as a slight crease formed on his brow.

“In any case,” said Albus hastily in an attempt to smooth over the silence, “I would have thought Durmstrang would have had more than enough books on those more ‘esoteric’ topics you’re interested in.”

Gellert’s magnetic smile and languid energy snapped back into place, “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

In the distance, a bell chimed and all of a sudden Albus was hyper aware of the fact that he’d completely lost track of time. A panicked look unfurled on his face as he hastily stuffed two more tomes into his bag and mentally calculated the shortest route to Professor Varley’s classroom.

“Time to go?” asked Gellert, and unless Albus was mistaken, the blonde boy looked slightly disappointed.

“Yes, I’m – I’ll be late,” said Albus, torn between wanting to stay for longer and the strict discipline he usually had when it came to his studies, “I – it was lovely to meet you."

Gellert lifted a lazy hand in farewell as Albus swiftly disappeared from view and bolted out of the library. It didn’t even occur to him until he was half an hour into his Defence Against the Dark Arts class that he’d left Gellert all alone in the restricted section behind him.

* * *

_Albus knocks on Bathilda Bagshot’s door hoping he doesn’t look as unkempt as he usually does after a particularly challenging morning in the family home. He tugs at the sleeves of his shirt, tucks strands of auburn hair behind his ears and casts a furtive look at the disheveled pair behind him, tamping down on the small flash of annoyance that nips at his temper._

_He and Abe had tried, of course. They’d managed to cajole Ariana, who was in one of her more whimsical moods today, into her favourite dress, the cornflower blue silk complementing the ocean tones of her eyes. _

_She looks lovely, as ever. But she’d magicked up a fight, and even the hastily applied dittany can’t hide the small cuts on Abe’s face. _

_“Don’t see why we need to meet anyone Batty Bagshot thinks we should know!” hisses Abe under his breath and Albus resists the urge to roll his eyes and hiss something condescending back._

_“Albus! Is that you dear?” comes the warm voice as the door swings open and immediately Albus feels himself slipping a genial smile over his face. _

_“Yes, of course – you said morning tea would suit you?” he ventures as Bathilda waves the three Dumbledore children inside._

_Diminutive in stature with mousy brown hair that spills down her back in waves, the middle-aged scholar had been neighbor to the Dumbledores for as long as the family had lived in Godric’s Hollow. _

_Having taken an instant liking to the family, Bathilda quickly developed a strong fondness for Albus in particular, with the pair of them regularly poring over academic texts while enjoying cups of tea – a pastime they’d both taken up more frequently in the wake of the accident._

_“Ah Ariana, I’m so glad you could make it, dear one,” Bathilda croons, guiding them down the hallway. “And you too, of course, Aberforth – I’ve baked a batch of cauldron cakes just for you.”_

_Aberforth grunts in appreciation, blue eyes focused only on making sure Ariana doesn’t trip over anything on their way through the house. In front of him, the slender blonde girl smiles dreamily at Bathilda, seeming to float as she walks into the kitchen and dining room._

_Leaving Aberforth to mind their sister, Albus drifts to the cupboards he knows almost as well as his own and plucks out a jar of tea leaves and a generous teapot from the shelves, before setting it to boil. _

_“My great-nephew is visiting – he’s from, well, Austria, originally. Or was it Germany?” Bathilda rambles as she places some butter and jams on the table. “I can’t recall – but I think perhaps Germany before he went to Durmstrang.”_

_The sullen look on Aberforth’s face deepens significantly and Albus elbows him sharply before the younger Dumbledore can begin an inevitable tirade on dark magick and darker schools._

_“Talking about me, Tante?” comes an accented voice from above and the sound of thudding footsteps moving down a staircase._

_The footsteps pause mid-flight, and there, basking in the glow of the sunlight streaming into the house, stands a young man with a cloud of white-gold hair that seems to float around him like a halo. _

_Albus’s heart begins to race as he instantly recognizes Bathilda Bagshot’s great-nephew as the stranger from the cemetery. How curious._

_Casting a curious gaze over the gathering below, the blonde lets out an exasperated sigh before moving to join them at the dining table – grey tome held tightly in one hand._

_“I didn’t know you were planning on having guests, Tante,” he says with a rueful smile. If he recognizes Albus from the graveyard, he certainly doesn’t show it, and Albus has a feeling it’s probably not a topic the youth would enjoy over tea._

_As the blonde approaches, Albus can feel the true extent of the magic rolling off of him in waves. It creates an imperceptible humming in the air that sends Albus’s own magic tensing and coiling in response. It’s a surprisingly exhilarating yet slightly uncomfortable feeling, and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it._

_Bathilda rolls her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, “Albus, Aberforth and Ariana, allow me to introduce my delinquent of a great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald.” _

_This pulls an unexpected laugh out of Ariana whose twinkling blue eyes focus on Gellert with an unsettling intensity. “What beautiful magic,” she breathes, “Almost as lovely as Alby’s.”_

_Beside Ariana, Aberforth’s scowl darkens, and he stands from his seat to lean pointedly over the dining table in Gellert’s direction. “I’m going to need to you to stop that now.”_

_Gellert blinks owlishly as he meets Aberforth’s eyes with his own, but before he can say anything Bathilda helpfully chimes in agreement, “Ah yes, I should have mentioned this earlier – Ariana is particularly sensitive to strong magic – be a dear, Gellert, and stop trying to show off.”_

_With a scrutinizing glance at Ariana, Gellert exhales noisily and just like that, the faint tension in the air dissipates as his magic relaxes. Almost simultaneously, the feverish look in Ariana’s eyes subsides, and Albus can feel his own magic calming down in response. _

_Breathing a sigh of relief and casting a warning look at Aberforth, Albus moves to fetch the teapot, settling it amongst the trays of pastries Bathilda laid out for them._

_“Sorry Tante, old habits die hard,” Gellert says with a charming smile as he takes a seat at the table nonchalantly. He summons a set of teacups from the cupboards and sends them soaring through the air before landing neatly on the table._

_“That what they teach you at Durmstrang?” Aberforth’s voice is as rough and snide as a voice can be._

_“Why, as a matter of fact, it is,” Gellert’s reply is saccharine sweet, “Magic is the greatest measure of a witch or wizard – so why should we hide that? Especially amongst friends!” _

_“Ah yes, the Durmstrang method of broadcasting one’s magic with absolutely no subtlety,” Bathilda smiles, “I think we teach a more subdued style of magic at Hogwarts – wouldn’t you agree, Albus?”_

_“Alby has beautiful magic,” says Ariana again, and this time her voice is more lucid as she mechanically reaches for a pastry to eat. Seated on the other side of Ariana, Albus blushes and focuses solely on his cup of tea._

_“Is that so?” Gellert asks, and his voice is full of warmth as he speaks to Ariana as though she is the only one in the room. He draws his wand out and points it at the palm of his hand before muttering a quick incantation and slowly, petal by petal, a delicate magnolia flower assembles itself from thin air, fragrance and all._

_Ariana lets out a delighted laugh as he hands it to her._

_“So, is it true?” asks Gellert as he turns his attention to Albus, his voice one part teasing and another part appraising, “Is your magic more beautiful than mine?”_

_“Oh, I wouldn’t be so conceited as to think such a thing,” says Albus after a slow pause despite Ariana’s fervent nodding next to him. “I would say all magic is beautiful – in its own way."_

_“False modesty doesn’t suit you,” observes Gellert in response, and he says it as though he were reporting the weather, “Tante Hilda informs me that you’re the most talented young wizard in Britain.”_

_“I – well, that is,” Albus is momentarily lost for words._

_“Aye, and yet here he is,” says Aberforth with a sneer. It’s a cruel jab in the aftermath of Albus’s strangled adventure to Europe, and both of the Dumbledore brothers and Bathilda know it. _

_“Gellert is visiting for the summer,” interjects Bathilda in an attempt to lighten the conversation, “He has an interest in magical history, so my niece thought it a clever idea to saddle me with him for a little while.”_

_“Is that so?” says Albus, mentally joining the dots. Well, that certainly explained the cemetery fireworks. “And what area are you hoping to focus on?”_

_“Oh, varied bits and pieces,” responds Gellert, “I’m particularly interested in historical artifacts and magical sources, as well as magical society as a construct.”_

_Bathilda laughs in good humour, “All very ambitious and complicated, of course.”_

_“Tante, what will you be responding to Madame Caldwell with, on her request for your review?” Gellert asks, changing the topic as he waves the grey book he’d come down with in the air._

_The book in question is a roughly bound leather-bound volume with the title _Major Runes and Permanence_ embossed beautifully in gold on the cover. Having read the book a week before, Albus found his curiousity piqued._

_“It’s a… it’s not quite her best work,” comes Bathilda’s reluctant reply, and she casts an apologetic look at the book as though it is Clarissa Caldwell in real life. “Clarissa is a dear friend of mine but… I fear it’s both too complex and too shallow at the same time!”_

_“Yes, on that we can agree, but as far as major runes and the concept of matter go, her experiments feel like they could be on the cusp of something far greater,” Gellert is animated in his response, and it’s clear to Albus that the blonde has been thinking about this book for quite some time._

_“I thought her chapters on how to strengthen the permanence of major runes in magical workings quite fascinating,” says Albus lightly, feeling instantly more relaxed with an academic topic. “It’s well known that enchanted objects decay with time and that runeworking accelerates the timeline by order of magnitude, but it seems like her methods have had some success at explaining why some are more durable than others.”_

_“Yes, but that involves some _dark_ magic, Albus,” chides Bathilda, even as her eyes twinkle good naturedly. _

_Gellert scoffs, “Tante, you of all witches should know that dark magic doesn’t exist! Madame Caldwell’s breakthroughs could have lasting implications for how we create and maintain larger workings – particularly ones that are at risk of damage by the non-magique.”_

_“While that’s true, I will concede Bathilda’s point,” replies Albus. “Most witches and wizards probably don’t need to try and dabble in both major runeworking and blood magic at the same time – it’s bound to end horribly.”_

_Gellert shrugs in agreement before responding, and Albus is swept up in the debate, fascinated that for once, he’s having a conversation with someone who can hold their own intellectually, and _isn’t_ one of his various esteemed pen pals. _

_He doesn’t notice Abe taking Ariana by the hand and leading her out of Bathilda’s house back to their own home two hours later with extra cakes stuffed in their pockets. All he notices is Gellert who makes the room vibrate with his energy and it isn’t even just his magic that makes Albus’s blood sing –_

* * *

“I need help,” said Albus as he sat down next to Al and Scorpius for breakfast the next day. Eyes focused on the table, he hurriedly heaped a stack of pancakes onto his plate and drizzled an overly generous serving of maple syrup over the top.

“If you’re going to ask why everyone keeps telling you to put your name in the damn cup – for the first and last time, it’s because we all know you’d win the Tournament with your eyes shut,” replied Scorpius immediately, scooting over to make more space for the redhead.

“What?” came Albus’s genuinely confused response. This was _not_ what he’d been planning on talking about.

Al laughed, “I told you – he hasn’t even noticed that almost nobody in the school has put their name in the cup!”

“I – what does that have to do with _me_?” Albus was perplexed and momentarily speechless.

“Honestly Albus, for Head Boy you sure don’t seem to be paying too much attention to what’s going on at Hogwarts,” teased Al.

“Nobody wants to ask you directly, but everyone under the sun and all the professors have been asking _us_ if you’ve put your name in the cup,” said Scorpius with a heavy sigh, “So would you just do it already?”

“Are you not going to put your name forward?” came a honeyed voice, and Albus felt his heart sink in his chest even as he tamped down on a hysterical laugh. _Trust_.

Al and Scorpius turned their heads to eye the newcomer and twin smug grins blossomed on their faces as Gellert sauntered towards the table. The blonde slid into the seat opposite the trio, eyes devoted solely to Albus as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Truthfully, I haven’t decided yet,” Albus replied, and to his surprise, he realized that he had been so busy with his head boy duties, extracurricular assignments, and quietly panicking over certain dreams that he really _hadn’t_ given the question much thought.

“It seems rather… well, you know. I’m not sure the whole ‘fighting for the glory of Hogwarts’ in an international competition is really my thing,” he continued lamely, eyes focused steadfast on his pancakes.

“Nonsense,” Gellert interjected smoothly, and he cast a kind and somewhat pitying look in Albus’s direction, “It seems _exactly_ like your sort of thing, if the number of accolades you have in the Hogwarts trophy room and beyond are any indication.”

“He’s got you there, Albus,” said Al with a warm smile.

Albus blushed, feeling both warm at the thought of Gellert paying _that_ much attention to his achievements, and slightly embarrassed that he’d had them at all, “Well yes, but that’s a bit different, I think.”

“False modesty doesn’t suit you, Albus,” Gellert practically purred.

A curious look briefly crossed Gellert’s face as he abruptly stood from his seat, eyes lost in focus. After a moment, they shifted back into clarity and Gellert gave a strange caricature of a smile, “What a shame, it would have been nice to see what you can do.”

Gellert swiped a berry off of Albus’s plate as he left the table and Albus had a feeling that he’d somehow failed a test he hadn’t known he was sitting.

“That,” said Albus dramatically to Al and Scor, finally allowing himself to see a little bit of the humour in the situation, “That is my problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the delay – Ariana and Aberforth shoehorned themselves in with more belligerence than I thought they would, and also, magical theory is hard. Let me know what you think? x

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this please leave thoughts and prayers in the comments – I’m a writer who thrives under pressure and a good guilt trip. x


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